


Storm's Blessing

by Meilan_Firaga



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Comfort, Conversations, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Late Night Conversations, Unexpected Visitors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-07 18:46:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19475134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meilan_Firaga/pseuds/Meilan_Firaga
Summary: Not long after arriving at Dragonstone, Daenerys and her forces are besieged by a terrible storm. In the midst of it all, a mysterious caller arrives and catches the interest of the queen.





	Storm's Blessing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleRaven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRaven/gifts).



The storm had been raging over Dragonstone for nearly a week. The vast army that had sailed from Essos with Daenerys Targaryen trembled at its ferocity, most of them being desert folk who had never seen the sky beat the sea against such unforgiving cliffs. Ever superstitious, the Dothraki whispered of it as a curse that Westeros had sent to test their queen. The queen, however, had never felt more at home.

Daenerys stood at the open archways overlooking the sea in Dragonstone’s war chamber, watching the lightning streak across the darkened sky. The room was mostly sheltered by overhanging rock, but some of the cold rain managed to blow in despite the protections. The hem of her dress was damp, weighing it down to the stone floor on which she stood. It may have been early evening, but the storm had blanketed the world so much that it looked nearly midnight. Closing her eyes, Dany took a deep, slow breath. The scent of salt and static filled her nose and raced through her veins, just as at home in her as dragon fire. She was born on a night like this.

Thunder cracked overhead, startling the queen from her musings. Her eyes flew open just in time for her to scramble out of the way as a bolt of lightning—moving far slower than she’d ever seen one move before—arced from the clouds and struck down just inside the room. The floor shook, and the stones themselves rattled with the force of it. Daenerys fell to the side and scrambled over against the wall, unable to believe her eyes. 

Where the lightning had struck there stood a man. He was of a similar size to Khal Drogo, though fair of skin and hair where her late husband had been tanned and dark. Tiny sparks of bright blue lightning chased one another down his bare, muscled arms to crackle around his fingers before disappearing. His eyes were alight with the same electricity as he gazed around the room. He turned in a slow circle, taking in his surroundings with a measured survey that said he’d found himself in unfamiliar locations on more than one occasion. Finally, his gaze found Daenerys. He closed his eyes, and when they opened again they were no longer glowing. He spoke a few words, all unfamiliar to her ears, and spread his hands wide as though he was trying to calm a frightened animal.

With as much grace as she could muster, Dany climbed to her feet. She was the Mother of Dragons, and she would not allow herself to be ruled by fear of a man who appeared from a storm. Still, there was a tinge of awe coloring her voice when she spoke. “What magic do you possess that lets you travel on the storm?” she asked. “Are you a sorcerer? Or some sort of demon?”

The man cocked his head as she spoke, seemingly listening intently. He kept still for a long moment, and Daenerys could almost see something turning in his mind. Then, as though his thoughts had clicked soundly into place he shook his head, gave her a beautific smile, and replied in the same common tongue that she’d used. “Forgive me,” he inclined his head ever so slightly. “Sometimes the Allspeak takes a moment to settle. I am neither a demon nor a sorcerer.” His smile shifted into a grin she could almost call wolfish. “I’m a god.”

Daenerys arched a perfectly manicured brow in his direction. “A god?”

“Admittedly not of this realm,” he waved a hand. “There’s nothing familiar about this place.” He looked around the room again, running an absent hand along the edge of the Westeros-shaped table before suddenly seeming to startle. “Forgive me. My brother always did say I ignored my manners. I am Thor, son of Odin. King of Asgard.” His gaze was expectant when he turned back to her. Without the distraction of their former blue glow, she could see that his eyes were different colors: one a striking blue and the other— surrounded by subtle scarring— was brown as sand.

“I am Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen. Queen of Meereen, the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Mother of Dragons.” She gave him a wry smile. “There are more titles, but I doubt they would mean much if you are unfamiliar with your current locale.” 

Thor nodded his agreement. “You’re probably right.” He tilted his head in her direction, questions in his gaze. “Your grace, could you find it in your heart to entertain a godly king who’s lost his way? I suspect I’ll remain no longer than the storm.”

As though she had been underwater and suddenly broken the surface, Daenerys was suddenly aware of a cacophony of sound coming from the hall just outside the chamber. Of course. A lightning strike had probably produced quite a din. It was a testament to the loyalty of the Unsullied that even in their panic they were obeying her order to remain outside the chamber. At least until their commander arrived. As the thought crossed her mind Grey Worm burst through the door, his armor haphazardly fastened and his spear in hand. Behind him the hall was filled with soldiers. It was clear that they intended to attack first and worry about any lingering questions after.

“Lower your weapons.” With her shoulders back and the most regal expression she could muster on her face Daenerys stepped between her men and the supposed king among gods. He didn’t seem to be lying, but there was something about him that had her attention. “We have an unexpected guest. Please send to the kitchens for refreshments and reinforce that we are not to be disturbed.”

There was a brief protest as Grey Worm tried to convince her to have himself or Tyrion join them, but she waved them all away. Food and drink were brought from the kitchens in short order. Someone had clearly told him that her guest was large and would likely have an appetite to match since the lighter fare she favored was replaced with heavier Westerosi dishes. She was not surprised to find that Thor preferred ale to wine. When they were finally alone once more, he smiled at her.

“I can see why they call you Stormborn,” he told her. “You’ve all the ferocity of a hurricane.”

She huffed out a small laugh, looking out at the turbulent sky. “The real reason isn’t so poetic, I’m afraid. I was born here during the worst storm in living memory. I’m told this one might rival it.”

“A storm like that may explain why I was pulled here,” Thor mused. “Usually I call the storm, but there are times when one calls me.” He shrugged. “Even gods can’t always say why magic works the way it does.”

While they ate, he told her of Asgard and the Nine Realms. In turn, she explained about Essos and Westeros, and the battle for the Iron Throne. Just as she’d never heard of his lands, he knew nothing of hers. He spoke of distant planets and travel through the stars, things so complicated they made her head hurt to try and grasp. Tyrion might have understood part, but the queen suspected that even her Hand would be outmatched by the advanced knowledge her companion seemed to possess. 

She was also sure that had the Lannister been present she and Thor would not have the crackle of static between them. He was attracted to her, a sentiment she’d grown used to seeing in the faces of men when she was before them. There was something different about Thor’s attraction, though. In her experience attraction had always come with a desire to possess, to lay a claim. There was no claim in Thor’s eyes, only appreciation, as though he would be honored to have his desires reciprocated.

Daenerys was not too proud to admit that they were, indeed, reciprocated. Warriors tended to gather her attention, and this one had the added appeal of a power that impressed her. For all that she’d seen, the way he’d arrived and the scent of ozone that followed him were entirely new and unexpected. He claimed to be a god of thunder—among other things—and she was inclined after some time in his company to believe him without question. Her world alone had many gods. Who was to say what gods other worlds might have. The stories he told made her feel a certain kinship. He knew the sting of banishment and the pain of loss. He glossed over the terrible things in his stories, but they were there all the same. It certainly didn’t hurt that he was an excellent conversationalist. 

“Earlier, with your titles, did you say Mother of Dragons?” he asked when they had finished the food and moved on to just drinking and talking.

“I did.” Over the rim of her wine glass she watched him with a flush in her cheeks. There was still something of a boy’s eagerness in him for all that he was clearly older than her.

“You birthed them?”

The question was so absurd that she barked out an uncharacteristically obnoxious laugh. “Of course not!” She quieted her laughter to more ladylike giggles. “I hatched their eggs on a funeral pyre, and raised them from infancy.”

“You laugh, but my brother once birthed an eight-legged horse.”

“Your  _ brother _ ?”

“Sometimes he prefers to be female. In that particular instance he made a very striking mare.” Thor settled himself back in his chair, mindful of the way it creaked beneath his weight. Hoisting the tankard of ale from the table with one hand he patted his muscled thigh with the other. “Come sit, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

“You think to have me sit on your knee for a story like a child?” She couldn’t halt the petulant tone in her voice any more than she could stop her eyebrow from lifting in a familiar challenging expression.

Thor’s eyes grew intensely focused as they traveled down over her body and back up to her face in a leisurely stroll. “Believe me when I say that I have never once looked upon you and thought of you as a child.”

“Like a whore on your lap, then?” She should have been accusing, should have been angry at that possible implication, but she found herself sounding a bit breathy instead. “Do you expect to have a queen call you master?”

“I expect to have you call me by name, as I will call you by yours.” His gaze was smoldering as he paused long enough to take a sip of the ale. “I expect to do my level best to give you the greatest pleasure I can manage, but I would never ask you to do anything against your will. I just can’t see what you’d have to lose.” His features softened, and before indignance could spark in her chest Daenerys realized that she was not seeing pity, but understanding. He was lonely, this king of gods. Whatever grieved him was hidden behind arrogance and bravado, but she could see the pain of tragedy—of rule—in his face. “Let us soothe one another’s souls for a storm, little queen.”

They came together like the storm and the waves. When the weather began to subside, Thor, God of Thunder, knelt at the feet of Daenerys Targaryen, pressed a kiss against her belly, and promised her every blessing it was in his power to give. Something pricked against the back of her mind at the thought, but she brushed it away to focus on her goodbyes. He left as he had come, a bolt of lightning arcing back into the lightening sky as the first rays of dawn came up above the sea.

It was only when her moon’s blood didn’t come that she remembered he’d said he was also a god of fertility and wondered whether there was a blessing he hadn't intended to give.

**Author's Note:**

> This was such a fun pairing to play with! I'm not sure I ever would have considered them on my own, but I found myself having to reign in ideas with this one.


End file.
